


Tell Me That You’ve Still Got The Flame For Me

by auroreanrave



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottoming from the Top, M/M, Vacation, holiday sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: Tim and Sylvester finally get a chance to unwind in luxury...





	Tell Me That You’ve Still Got The Flame For Me

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up to 'All Is Well' because some of you requested it, and I can never get enough of Tim/Sly goodness. Given that it's summer, I figured a proper vacation was on the cards, as well as some porn with a little background plot for icing on top. Hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Title comes from Tinashe's slow-burn summer banger, 'Flame'.

Vacation is beginning to suit Sylvester.

They're four hours into possibly the nicest vacation Sylvester's ever had. Possibly the only real vacation he's ever had, given that jetting around on missions is most definitely work, and he's only stayed stateside before.

This, however, is bliss.

The vacation is a court-mandated sanction, courtesy of the Department of Defense, who, given that they use Scorpion as contractors an increasing amount, have been under pressure to give them the benefits of long term contracts, such as dental and actual vacation hours.

They are, of course, on standby in case of actual emergency. Happy and Toby are somewhere in Peru, Walter and Paige in India, and Cabe taking the opportunity to take Allie to Florence and their three-year-anniversary.

Sylvester, after some cajoling, from Tim, had agreed for the Bahamas.

And he's thrilled he did, because the resort the government is stumping the bill for is... divine. A quiet, barely populated oasis in shimmering white stone and turquoise accents, everything is light and bright and open. It's such a contrast to the garage that it takes Sylvester an hour to properly adjust, feet dangling in the sublimely cool pool just outside of their ground-floor room.

He adjusts quickly though. He sinks into the swimming pool - perfectly cool, thoroughly sterile, the attendants assure him with a knowing smile. Tim drifts on his back, sunglasses on, perfect abs glimmering in the sun.

His relationship with Tim is two years, nine months down the line. They're each others' emergency contacts, and know about each other's idiosyncracies more than they should (Tim knows Sylvester's flossing routine down pat, while Sylvester knows Tim's entire back catalogue of Off-Broadway tunes and Lady Gaga deep cuts from the shower). He's happy, really happy.

Sylvester's waiting for his hair to dry, mulling over what to wear for dinner in the restaurant (who have already assured Sylvester they can meet any of his unusual food requests), when Tim emerges from the bathroom. A towel is slung low around his hips and he looks blissed out.

"Power... shower," Tim breathes, grinning. "I don't care how many extra jobs we need to take, we need one at home."

"Not saying no," Sylvester says. His eyes keep moving from the menu in his hands to the droplets of condensation sliding down Tim's chest. He's suddenly aware of how warm it is in the room.

Tim slinks towards him - and slinks is the appropriate word, because he knocks aside the menu and all but crawls into Sylvester's terrycloth lap.

Sylvester looks up at Tim who beams at him, grin turning lascivious. "I was also thinking... since we have an hour or so before the dinner period even starts..."

He lays a kiss, petal-soft, to Sylvester's throat. "We could..."

Sylvester leans his head back, and Tim presses a series of kisses along his throat, to his chin, to his cheeks. It's so reverent, so soft, that Sylvester lets out a groan. His hands bracket Tim's hips, and the towel falls away, as if it was never even there. Sylvester's thumb rubs a familiar groove, a bullet scar in the shape of a crescent moon, faded and worn.

Sylvester smoothes his hands over the warm, taut skin of Tim's stomach, the hips where, if they ever get the chance to retire, they'll get huskier and happier. Sylvester leans forward and presses a kiss to the skin above Tim's navel, and Tim moans, his erection bobbing, slick and sleek at the tip, dripping with pre-come.

Tim's hands are pulling at Sylvester's terrycloth robe, and hungrily touching the skin he can. Sylvester's nipples, his oversized stomach, his broad shoulders. Everything gets loving attention. They might not do this as often as they used to, but the affection is like background radiation - always present, always there.

"Want you to fuck me," Tim groans. Sylvester looks out. Their windows are reflective, tilted glass - clear as day from their side, but darkened looking from the outside in. No one can see them, even if they're blatant enough to not even draw any curtains.

Tim silences any more doubts by pushing up onto his knees. "Get the stuff," he tells Sylvester, and he pushes the tip of a finger into himself, the angle just right. Sylvester watches for a moment as Tim moans, fucking himself on his finger a little, before he comes to his senses and scrambles in the bedside table.

He removes lube (they've moved onto no condoms after eighteen months together) and passes it over to Tim who uncaps the bottle shakily and slicks his entrance. Tim's fingers wrap, smooth and slippery, around Sylvester's cock and bring it to full mast within a couple of hearty strokes. Tim always does this, making him see stars, making him feel like he's flying through the universe in a warm bubble. Safe and loved and protected.

Tim leans forward, angling himself right, hands on the headboard behind Sylvester, and then he's sliding down, slow and steady, until the curve of his ass is pressed firm against Sylvester's pelvis. They stay there for a moment, before Sylvester pulls him into a kiss. He has the most handsome man in the world doing this for him. He can show plenty of affection for that.

Tim starts to rise, slowly at first, then more quickly. Sylvester starts to thrust up, little jerks of his hips, more involuntary at the pressure and sensation, of warmth and pleasure. He slides a hand forward, so that he can jerk off Tim's cock, flushed and stiff, and it's not long before Tim is crying out, pushing down and bottoming out and then coming, with a moan, in pearlescent streaks across Sylvester's belly.

Sylvester is moments behind, coming with a rush of warmth from his head to his toes, and then it's all curled up comfort, the heady afterglow. Tim sliding free of Sylvester's softening cock and flopping down beside him, both of them a dripping, sweating mess, and sharing kisses.

"Okay..." Tim says, grinning, "that was good."

A thought pops into Sylvester's mind. "This wasn't all an excuse just so you can use the shower again, was it?"

Tim stares at him and then snorts with laughter. "No, babe... as much as I love that shower, it will always come second fiddle to you. Just saw you there... hair all fluffy... couldn't help myself."

There's a few more kisses, drowsiness lapping at the shores of Sylvester's consciousness, before Tim says, "In all seriousness, though, I think we might need to shower. These sheets probably cost more than our apartment, and I don't want to make the cleaning people cry. Or judge us."

"Fine," Sylvester says, leaning up. "But then we have an actual nap. Okay? I'm not going to dinner sleepy."

Tim grins, kissing him, utterly radiant. "You drive a hard bargain, but it sounds good. Lead the way," he adds, swatting at Sylvester's butt as he pulls them both, beaming with laughter, into the bathroom.


End file.
